


Dean Winchester and The Drunk Stoned Angel

by Daena



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daena/pseuds/Daena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean takes Castiel to the club to meet some old friends, and intoxication ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Winchester and The Drunk Stoned Angel

“Dean, for the twelfth time, I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

Dean still almost jumped out of his skin at the voice from behind him; one would have thought that after a million unannounced appearances he would be virtually immune to Castiel’s ninja techniques by now. He buttoned the last button of his shirt and turned around to find the angel standing behind him awkwardly. His clothes were rumpled, and his hair was even more of a mess than usual.

“Well, you’re here, so you can’t really think this is a bad idea.” He put steadying hands on Castiel’s shoulders. “It’s just one night. As a favour to me. I’m not going to make you dance on a table or anything, so relax.”

Those ocean blue eyes widened a fraction. “Dance on a...Dean. Angels don’t...party.”

“Cas, we saved the world. We averted the apocalypse. I know that you still have things going on up in Heaven, but you can take one night away from the war to celebrate. So we’re going to go out and have a good time, and you are _not_ going to drink a liquor store, and...” Dean trailed off, suddenly noticing the extent of the creases in Castiel’s shirt. “You’re not wearing that.”

Castiel blinked, then frowned and looked down at himself. “I have no other clothes.”

“My jeans might be a little long for you, but we’ll make do.” Dean opened the closet and tossed an old pair of faded blue jeans onto the bed, followed by a simple long-sleeved white shirt. “Put these on.”

“Dean –”

“Cas, if you Dean me one more time, I swear I will pull the tightest miniskirt I can find off the closest hooker on the street and make you wear it.” Dean folded his arms across his chest and his eyes dared Castiel to disagree.

The staring match lasted all of two seconds. Castiel sighed and picked up the clothes. “I’ll change in the bathroom.”

“Damn right you will,” Dean said crisply, knotting his shoelaces. The last thing he wanted was to be getting his drunk on in a club and trip. “I gotta call Sam, he’s meeting us there. I made a few arrangements with a couple people we know...don’t be mad.”

“We don’t know people in common, Dean,” came the voice from the bathroom. “What arrangements?”

“On the phone here,” Dean hollered, and then Sam picked up. “Hey, Sammy.”

“Hey. Madison’s with me, we’re leaving just now.”

Dean checked his watch. “Dude, you were supposed to be there ten minutes ago.”

“Yeah, uh...we got a little distracted.” The sheepish tone was impossible to hide, but equally audible was the broad grin. “Alex and Esme are on their way, I think Gabriel’s with them. Balthazar was a little harder to get in contact with.”

“Yeah, feathery bastard doesn’t like to come when we call.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Did you get him?”

“Eventually. I had to bribe him, but once I waxed poetic about all the alcohol and our hot single friend he was pretty sold. Is Cas going to wear that trenchcoat?”

“Nope, he’s actually changing now. Dude, I gotta admit, I’m psyched about this. And I’m telling you in advance, someone else is driving.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, you’re gonna get shitfaced. Okay, I gotta go. I’ll see you soon.”

“Later, Sammy.” Dean ended the call and smoothed the front of his black shirt, finishing tucking it into the dark grey jeans. “Cas, you done?”

“Yes.” Castiel stepped out of the bathroom. The jeans were a little long for him, but they were narrow enough at the bottom that the shoes prevented them from dragging on the floor. They fit snugly, hugging his thighs like nobody’s business. He looked incredible, the ridiculous blue of his eyes somehow a hundred times more piercing than they had ever seemed. For a moment Dean forgot to breathe. “Is this okay?”

“You look...” Dean cleared his throat. “Yes, this is fine. Looks good.” He stepped forward and unbuttoned the collar and first button of the shirt, and then nodded. “They’re going to meet us there, so we’d better get going.”

“Who is they?”

“You’ll see when you get there.”

“Dean.” That was Castiel’s warning tone. “I agreed to come out with you. I want to know who else will be with us. You owe me that much.”

“Sam and Madison are coming. And two girls we know, Alex and Esme. And...” Dean swallowed. “Gabriel and Balthazar.”

Castiel’s eyes widened. “ _Gabriel_ and _Balthazar_?”

“Well, they’re your friends, right? I mean, they’re your brothers. And, well, we kind of got to know them a little, and...” Dean winced. “Don’t freak out.”

A head tilt. “You invited an archangel to party?”

“Cas, Gabriel is hardly angelic. He’s been on earth a long time, and at least he appreciates that iniquity is one of the perks of rebellion.” He raised an eyebrow. “And Balthazar, well, you know how he is. So yes, they’ll be there tonight, and I think Alex and Esme will keep them entertained. Problem?”

Castiel seemed to search for words, but then fell silent. “No. No problem.”

“Good.” Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on.”

 

* * *

 

The music was pounding, loud and wild and Dean could barely hear himself think over the insistent beat. He gravitated to the bar immediately, Castiel trailing behind him, and ordered two beers. The dancefloor was a pulsating mass of people, all sweating and gyrating on each other, and he could almost smell the discomfort coming off of his angel companion.

Dean put a beer in his hand, and threw an arm around his shoulders. “Loosen up,” he yelled above the noise. “I know this isn’t second nature for you, just get into the rhythm of what everyone else is doing.” He spied Sam’s shaggy head above the crowd, and pulled Castiel after him.

They wound their way through the throng. Sam wore an olive shirt and black jeans, and Madison, in a slinky red dress, was whispering something in his ear. Alex was just finishing a tequila shot, and almost choked when she saw Dean. He hugged her. “Alex, this is Cas.”

“Nice to meet you,” she shouted around the wedge of lemon. “Gabriel went to get drinks.”

Castiel turned to Dean, and leaned in close. “Does she know what we are?”

“Yeah, she and Esme are hunters, they know the whole deal. We’ve known them a long time.” Dean raised his beer. “Cheers,” he said, and tugged on Alex’s hair to get her attention. “Where’s Esme?”

“She’s out there.” She made a swirling gesture that encompassed the dancefloor. “With that other guy, whatshisname.”

“Whatshisname? Very helpful, Alexandra.”

“Fuck you, Dean Winchester.”

“Balthazar,” Sam said, leaning into the conversation and rolling his eyes at them. “They hit it off. You know how Esme is.”

Dean could well imagine. Just then Gabriel sidled back into the circle, grinning, and hugged Castiel, who stiffened and clearly did not know what to do. “Relax,” Gabriel said, adding beers to the ones in their hands. “I’m happy, we’re all friends here.” He punched Castiel lightly in the shoulder, and slid an arm around Alex’s waist. “I’m your big brother. Loosen up, kid.”

Castiel looked at Dean. “Dean.”

“What?” Dean slung an arm around his shoulders again, bending his head so he could hear better. “Gabriel’s an archangel, drinking beer in a club. Balthazar is dancing with an old friend. Sam and his girl are clearly having a good time. You’re here with me. Enjoy yourself.”

Castiel seemed to make an effort, and some of the tension eased from his frame. He rolled his neck, shook out his limbs a little. “This music,” he said finally. “How do you dance to this?”

Dean became aware of the music again, which was less frenetic than when they first entered the club and had now taken on a slow, sultry sound. He felt the beat throb in his body, and as he looked at Castiel it seemed to sink down into his groin. Fuck, he couldn’t help it. The angel looked so damn good in the white shirt and jeans – _his_ shirt and _his_ jeans, _fuck_ – with that bedhead and those serious blue eyes staring into his, and Dean could almost see the shimmer of his grace, the fearsome power so barely contained in the fragile human vessel. But he knew Castiel would never hurt him. Hell, Cas followed him, needed him, almost worshipped him. Loved him.

Before he was entirely aware of what he was doing, Dean curled the arm around Castiel’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “Let’s go out on the floor,” he said into the angel’s ear, unable to resist inhaling the strange scent of ozone and incense that seemed to hang around him. “I’ll show you.”

They made their way into the crowd, and found a slightly less packed spot where, to Dean’s amusement, Balthazar and Esme also were. She was wearing the most impossibly tight leather pants Dean had ever seen, with knee-high boots and a black corset, and she wore a smirk on her face as she moved her body against him. Balthazar was watching her with heavy-lidded eyes, a near-empty glass of whiskey in one hand and the other dangerously low on her back, holding her close.

“See what they’re doing?” Dean said, nodding to the pair. “That’s how you dance to this music, Cas.” He looked at the angel expectantly, but Castiel just shifted awkwardly. Dean sighed. “Go to the bar and have a few shots of the strongest thing you can find. Inhibitions, Cas. You gotta lose them. Then come right back here, and bring a beer with you.”

Castiel disappeared into the crowd, and suddenly Esme appeared against Dean’s chest. “Is that Castiel?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I see you like Balthazar.”

“Dean, for Christ’s sake, he’s an angel. Who would I be if I wasn’t trying to take advantage of this moment?” She grinned. “FYI, Castiel is fucking _hot_.”

Dean groaned. “He’s a holy tax accountant.”

“Listen, you can spin that bullshit with other people, but give me some credit. He gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.” She laid her hand on his shoulder, fingers fitting almost perfectly against the mark. “That little angel probably has deeper feelings for you than your puny mortal mind can comprehend. Just do me a favour – don’t be the classic Dean Winchester masochist and push him away because you think you’re worthless and don’t deserve shit. He’s a fucking _angel_. He held your soul in his hands. He knows you. He loves you for a reason. Don’t fuck this up.”

He stared at her, mouth open. “When the hell did you become so bossy?”

“I’m just trying to save you from yourself.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Balthazar’s coming back with my drink. You listen to me, Dean Winchester.” She jabbed a finger into his chest and looked hard into his eyes. “Your father treated you like crap and you deserve better. You are gorgeous. He is gorgeous. No baggage tonight, you hear me? You make this happen.”

And just like that she was gone, taking her beer from Balthazar and sliding her arms around his neck to whisper something in his ear. The angel nodded to Dean, raised his glass in a sort of toast, and returned his full attention to Esme as she fit her hips against his and began a slow, sensual grind to the rhythm of the song.

_Fuck_. Dean looked away, and spotted Castiel coming back through the crowd. His hair looked even more dishevelled, those full, chapped lips screaming for Dean to kiss them. Instead, he leaned down. “How do you feel now?”

“Intoxicated.” It was a growl, and it sent shivers up Dean’s spine. “Now what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to dance.” Dean took his beer and turned Castiel to face Balthazar and Esme. “Like that.”

Castiel observed them for several seconds, and looked back over his shoulder at Dean. “With you?”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. Never had he imagined Castiel would say those words; he thought the angel would naturally assume he had meant to find a girl. His heart was racing, but he affected a casual expression, and shrugged. “Why not?”

In a flash, Castiel was in his arms, body arched against his chest. Dean exhaled in a rush, and his free hand settled on Castiel’s hips, timing their movement to his. A plume of heat plunged deep through his abdomen and took up residence at the base of his cock, pleasure spiking along every nerve in his body. He shuddered, and pushed the guilt from his mind. He had nothing to feel guilty about – John was dead, Sam was alive, they had saved the world, and angels didn’t really have gender anyway. He couldn’t deny that there was something terribly wrong about the fact he was practically dry-humping an angel of the Lord, but the alcohol had him pleasantly buzzed and all he really cared about was the way Castiel was writhing against him like a bitch in heat.

“Fuck, Cas.” Dean drained the beer and locked both hands around the angel’s waist. “Slow down.”

Castiel was out of breath, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. He pressed against Dean, eyes locked on his. “Dean, this feels good.”

The sheer desire in Castiel’s voice rocked Dean for a moment. “Yeah, it does.” He looked back at Balthazar and Esme. She was sliding one hand along the angel’s stubbled chin, whispered something that him give a long slow smile, and then they were kissing. Dean saw the flash of tongues, watched Balthazar’s hands drop to cradle Esme’s leather-clad ass, and he swallowed.

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice drew his attention. “Dean, your body.”

For a moment he wondered what Castiel was talking about, and then his cheeks burned as he realized he was hard. And there was no way Castiel could have missed it, considering that their bodies were plastered together from chest to knee. Dean found his voice. “Yeah. Happens when things feel good, Cas.” He tried to say it nonchalantly, but his words were ragged. He rocked his groin slightly against Castiel, and was rewarded when the angel pushed back against him and Dean felt the ridge of his own erection.

Dean thought he was going to explode. He looked down into those blue eyes, almost black with all the emotion seething just under the surface. Castiel’s pupils were blown, his irises just a thin sliver of colour around the inky swell. They hypnotized Dean, drew him in to drown in their depths. He only dimly heard himself ask, “Remember what you learned from the pizza man?”

Castiel’s brow furrowed ever so slightly, and then he gripped Dean’s shoulder, hand over the brand he had left when he raised him from Hell. The heat seared through his shirt, his nerves blazing with something not entirely unlike pain but only a hair’s breadth away from ecstasy, and then Castiel’s other hand was at the back of Dean’s head and the next thing Dean knew he was being kissed by an angel.

An angel who was porn’s most brilliant student, apparently, because Castiel kissed Dean like a fucking professional. It was intense and desperate, and the entire world slowed to a halt around them as Dean lost himself in the taste, the feel, the insistent lick of Castiel’s tongue. He moaned, clutching at Castiel’s back, and hands were everywhere, pushing under his shirt to explore his body without the faintest self-consciousness as to what people would think. He tore his mouth from Castiel’s to bite along the stubbled line of his jaw, to suck at that place under his ear, and Castiel made an indistinct noise in his throat.

“Cas.” The word exploded from him in a groan, and he wound his fingers into Castiel’s hair, pulling back. They were both breathing hard, those blue eyes glazed with alcohol and want, and Dean couldn’t stop himself from touching his face, tracing the curve of that lower lip. He wanted to stare endlessly into Castiel’s eyes, but at the same time that mouth drew his gaze, and Dean knew he utterly failed to conceal the expression of hunger that wrought his features.

“Dean.” Castiel was against him, hips jerking, rubbing himself on Dean with not an iota of shame. He reached up, teeth catching Dean’s lip for a moment. The sheer force of feeling behind his eyes was terrifying and wonderful at the same time. That was more than lust, that was love, and angels weren’t supposed to know love. He took a deep, shuddering breath, but clearly his capacity for speech was all but gone, because all he said was, “Dean.”

Dean gripped Castiel’s head in his hands and kissed him more gently, hips moving in long slow motions, trying to calm down. He let his fingers drift across Castiel’s face, following the plane of his cheek, the strong line of his jaw, curling possessively around his neck. He opened his eyes to find those infinite pools staring at him, and his knees went weak for a moment. They had crossed all kinds of lines in the last two minutes. Lines that Dean was actually not sure had ever really existed.

He just hugged Castiel wordlessly, leaning his cheek on the angel’s hair, and the lithe body sank willingly against his own. He stroked Castiel’s back, fingers dipping into the groove of his spine. He wasn’t sure he felt a heartbeat save his own, now beginning to edge down to a more reasonable speed. His muscles relaxed slowly as they swayed on the spot, and he was vaguely aware that at some point the music had changed and it was now something soft and dreamy. The floor had cleared a little, the younger crowd not too keen on dancing to this sort of thing, and Dean glanced around to meet Sam’s eyes. There was a soft, knowing smile on his brother’s face.

Dean turned scarlet and cleared his throat, easing back from Castiel. “You okay?”

Castiel gave him his what-the-fuck-kind-of-question-is-that look. “No. Yes. I...don’t know.”

“Dean.” There was a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to see Esme, who smiled at Castiel and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Esme.”

Castiel shook her hand with minimal awkwardness, which made Dean irrationally proud, and looked her outfit up and down with an unreadable expression. “You dress like a demon,” he finally said.

“ _Cas_!”

Esme grinned. “Well, I’m not one.” She turned to Dean. “Listen, I have some stuff, I thought I’d ask you if you want to hotbox the Impala. Alex and Gabriel are in, but Sam’s a little busy with Madison so he won’t be joining us.”

“You want to hotbox my car?” Dean tried for a disapproving frown, but missed. It wasn’t a terrible idea; it would remove any remaining inhibitions Castiel – or he – might have, and he had always considered smoking to be an intimate, bonding experience. “Good plan.”

“Cool. We’ll be outside.” She sauntered off.

Castiel gave him a confused look. “Hot...box?”

“Yeah. It’s smoking with all the windows up.”

The brow wrinkled further. “You don’t smoke.”

“It’s not cigarettes, it’s – well, it’s pot. Weed. It...makes you feel good. I don’t do it often, but I enjoy it when I do.” Dean touched Castiel’s face. “You’ll enjoy it too. And if it makes you feel better, Gabriel and Balthazar are doing it too.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. It was a very human action, but then, he was rather a lot more human when he was drunk. “Probably won’t even be the first time.”

“Come on.” Dean wrapped one arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “It’ll be nice. If you don’t like it, we can always stop, okay?”

“Dean.” Castiel touched his arm, fingers burning through to the brand. “I’ve done things for you...I would do anything for you. This is minor.”

Dean’s mouth was dry. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t feel that he deserved such absolute devotion, and yet it was clear that Castiel believed he did. An angel loved him. Loved him so much he had rebelled against Heaven, turned his back on everything he knew and believed in, killed his own brothers...all for Dean.

“Let’s go outside,” he said, and blinked back tears as he led Castiel through the crowd.

 

* * *

 

Leaving the nightclub was like stumbling into a dream, as the door closing behind them amputated Dean from the music that had become part of his body. The silence was deafening, the darkness outside broken by hazy streetlights that lit up the exterior of the Impala like it was on a stage. His two friends and their angel dates were standing around the car, and Alex looked up at their approach.

“Sam left already,” she said a little too loudly, a side effect from the temporary hearing loss caused by the blasting music. “He went back to Madison’s place.”

“Dude, volume.” Esme laughed. “There’s a field a couple miles from here. We should park up there, don’t want cops asking questions.”

“Given present company, I really don’t think you need to be worrying about police,” Gabriel pointed out.

“It’ll be more comfortable away from all this light and noise.” Dean pulled out his keys, dimly realizing his free hand was intertwined with Castiel’s and nobody had said anything, although the way Balthazar was smirking it was obvious he had noticed. Dean unlocked the car, and everybody got in, four in the backseat and Castiel riding shotgun.

Dean wasn’t sure he was fit to drive, but it wasn’t far, and he was accustomed to handling the Impala while less than sober. She was his car, and she would forgive him. He drove right onto the field, pulling up the handbrake under the shadow of a large tree, and switched off the engine. “Esme.”

“Working on it.” In the rearview mirror he could see her rolling a joint as though it was second nature.

“No. Esme.”

She looked up. “Dean. What?”

“Where the hell did you keep that weed?”

She grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

There was a general snicker, and Dean sighed. “I don’t know why I ask these questions.”

“I don’t know either.” She licked the paper and wrapped it around, then held out her hand. “Keys.”

“What?”

“Keys, Dean. I need to pack this.”

He handed her the keys and watched as she packed it, shook it back and forth. “Esme, you’re a stoner.”

“I know. And I brought enough so that we don’t have to pass this shit around like a whore.” She handed him the joint. “You’re welcome.”

Dean looked into Castiel’s eyes in the darkness, and those endless depths looked back at him with perfect calm and love. He twisted the paper at the end, tore off the excess, and pulled out his Zippo. “You okay with this?” he asked softly.

“Listen, mate,” Balthazar said from the backseat, “you’re not on the verge of putting it in his arse here, it’s a goddamn cigarette. Cas is yours, if he’ll kill his brothers at your say-so he’ll more than smoke a bloody joint.”

Dean closed his eyes and counted to ten, but it made him no less angry. “Balthazar,” he began through clenched teeth, but Castiel stopped him.

“No,” he said. “He’s right. It’s fine. You shouldn’t worry.” And Castiel took the Zippo from Dean’s fingers and spun the wheel. An orange flame sparked into existence, and he held it out. “I’m okay.”

Dean let the rest of the tension run out of his body and lit the joint, sucking in the sweet smoke. He could tell from the taste that it was high quality stuff, and hell, the entire car had smelled of it the moment Esme had broken out the bag. And it had been a long time since he’d smoked, so he was going to get _baked_. He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke sit in his lungs a few moments before exhaling it into the interior of the car.

“Alex,” he said as an afterthought. “Why are you so quiet?”

“She and Gabriel are playing tonsil hockey,” Esme said. “And they were dancing by the speakers, so I don’t even think she can hear you. Plus, you can’t even begin to contemplate how many shots of tequila she had.” She cleared her throat and elbowed Alex. “Dude. This one is yours.”

“Sweet.” Alex giggled, and there was the click of a lighter.

Dean took another pull of the joint and held it out to Castiel. “Inhale,” he said. “Take a few draws and then pass it back to me.”

“His first time should be a shotgun,” Esme said. “Ease him into it.”

Balthazar raised an eyebrow. “Shotgun?”

She grinned. “I’ll show you just as soon as I get mine lit.”

Dean scooted closer to Castiel on the seat, put an arm around his shoulder. The blue eyes were wide, dilated pupils giving them an even more otherworldly quality. Dean took a huge pull on the joint, leaned all the way into Castiel’s face, and then whispered, “Inhale,” as he put his mouth on the angel’s.

Castiel’s eyelids fluttered shut, but he did as Dean said, breathing in all the smoke as Dean exhaled into his mouth. When Dean drew back, Castiel tilted his head back and blew a long stream from his nostrils. “I like that,” he said after a moment. “We can do that.”

Dean was beginning to feel warm and lightheaded, and the way Castiel was looking at him made him even warmer. But he slipped into his role as THC delivery boy happily, one hand lingering on Castiel’s face as the two of them shared breath. After a few tokes, the shotguns began to end in kisses. Neither cared about the four in the backseat, and a cursory glance in the rearview would have displayed that the four didn’t care about them either. Alex was on top of Gabriel, whose hands were firmly on her ass, and they were making out as though their lives depended on it. Esme was tucked against Balthazar’s side, having whispered conversations in between shotguns and kisses.

When the joint was done, Dean dropped the tiny roach into the ashtray. He barely had enough coordination for the act. Time stretched on forever, as though he were moving in slow motion, and every particle of his body cried out with the desire to touch Castiel, to kiss Castiel, to press skin to skin as though they could somehow become one being.

Castiel crawled unsteadily across the seat and into Dean’s lap. Even through the fog of smoke in the car the intensity in his gaze was unmistakable. His hands came up, felt through Dean’s hair. Every nerve tingled gloriously. Dean leaned into the touch, almost moaning as he let Castiel stroke him like a kitten. He tilted his head and their mouths collided, the smell of the pot mingling with the electric scent of Castiel. Dean breathed him in and his fingers, unbidden, were unbuttoning the white shirt, revealing smooth skin that begged to be kissed. So Dean lowered his mouth to taste Castiel’s flesh, biting at his collarbone, slipping his hands down around his ribcage to linger at the point where skin ended and jeans began.

Castiel’s breathing roughened, but behind that noise was the soft flurry of wings, and Dean swung his head around to see only Esme and Balthazar in the backseat. Gabriel had taken Alex to God alone knew where to do unspeakable things to her, probably the same things Dean wanted to do to the angel pawing at the button of his pants.

Balthazar met his eyes, and Dean saw his mouth curl in a smile before Esme lay down on the backseat and they resumed their activities. He watched hands slide up leather-clad thighs, watched fingers deal with the button and ease the zip down. Dean’s mind could not process everything, and yet he still could not believe this was happening. All he knew was that he had never been so turned on in his life.

A warm hand wrapped around his cock and a soft noise burst from his throat as his head fell back, hips lifting unconsciously, yearning for more contact. Castiel was above him, panting, fighting with his own jeans with the other hand, and Dean’s fingers stumbled over the fastening before they said to hell with it and ripped themselves out of their clothes.

Castiel’s body was beautiful, lithe and strong, but Dean saw the glow behind his eyes, the awesome celestial power trapped inside the human flesh. Suddenly he wanted more than anything to see Castiel’s true form, even if it burned his eyes out. He wanted to know Castiel like Castiel knew him, had seen him right down to his barest essence, had held his soul in his hands.

“I love you.” Dean hardly heard himself say the words, but their truth brought tears to his eyes even as the pressure built in his groin, as he ground his cock against Castiel’s, steel wrapped in silk, sliding in the pool of wetness growing on his stomach. “Fuck, Cas. I love you, God, I love you.”

Abruptly Castiel imprisoned his face in broad hands, fingers splayed at the side of his head, and fixed Dean with the most intense gaze he had ever been conscious to see. Words died at his lips – those eyes were not the vessel’s eyes for a moment, but blazing coals of white light searching past the defences and the weakness all the way into Dean’s core. “Don’t say it unless you mean it,” he said with a fierceness that defied comprehension.

“Cas.” Dean shuddered, completely transfixed by that stare, and he remembered that angels were no soft fuzzy winged babies, but soldiers of God. “Cas, you _know_ me. You know who I am all the way down. I mean it.” He reached out blindly for Castiel’s face, sunk his fingers into the hair at the back of his head. “ _I love you_.”

Castiel growled deep in his throat and pressed his forehead to Dean’s shoulder, one hand dropping to wrap around both their cocks. A spasm of pleasure shot through Dean’s body, and he could not stop his keening moans. Castiel thrust hard and fast against him, the friction so fucking delicious, and sudden incredible heat spread through every fibre, his nerves singing the fucking hallelujah chorus, and Dean heard himself making little ‘ah, ah’ noises against the backdrop of Castiel’s guttural moan.

“Dean.” The word was wrenched from Castiel’s throat, he bit down on Dean’s shoulder. “Dean, I love you.”

It was all he needed. Dean threw back his head and cried out, his body shuddering uncontrollably, and came like a fucking tsunami. Castiel dug his nails into Dean’s arms and howled as his body went rigid, and then Dean felt the heat between them, great long strings of semen sluicing over his chest. His mind was blissfully empty, only aware of Castiel’s body in his arms, of the smell of ozone and sex, of the hot breath on his neck. He cradled the angel against his chest, twitching as sensitivity washed over him.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered, fingers coming up to drag across his jaw. “Dean.”

“Shh, Cas.” Dean kissed the angel’s damp temple. “I love you. I love you.”

And he did. This was an angel of the Lord – a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, whose true form was the size of the Chrysler building, who could kill a human with a snap of his fingers and send a demon screaming back to hell just as easily – lying here in his arms, basking in sweet, sticky, stoned afterglow. Castiel, who had spent years searching for Dean in hell, who had wrapped his grace around his soul and fought back to the light. Castiel, who at the end of the day would never hesitate to die for him. How many people had what he had?

Castiel lifted his head from Dean’s chest, and starry blue eyes met his. He followed Dean’s lips with his fingers, kissed him. “I love you, Dean Winchester,” he said so softly it was almost inaudible, in a voice tinged with wonder.

“Congratulations,” came Balthazar’s raspy voice from the backseat, and Dean remembered where they were and what had happened. He was too stoned still, too high not just on the weed but on Castiel’s love, to be embarrassed – that would come later. Instead he turned his head. Esme was sprawled out on the seat, Balthazar propped up between her legs. Both were absolutely naked. She gave him a lazy smile, and the angel added, “Cas, I didn’t know you had it in you to make sounds like that. Also, nice arse.”

Castiel half-narrowed his eyes, then just sighed and snuggled into Dean’s chest. “Yes,” Dean said in answer. “It _is_ a nice ass.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Esme giggled. Balthazar snorted in response, and Dean couldn’t help himself – he burst out laughing, shoulders shaking with it. Even Castiel gave a wry smile, and all four shared a sweet, soft moment of friendship and love. Dean cracked the window to let the smoke and the smell of sex out, and hugged the angel, and finally admitted to himself that he was happy.


End file.
